Disdain by David J. Roche

Disdain is the first book from author David J. Roche.

Book Blurb:

“The being had no destination in mind, no purpose other than the primal urge to seek out sustenance and sustenance alone. And as it rode the cosmic waves, it felt an irresistible pull, a beckoning from a nearby source, promising nourishment and entertainment beyond its wildest dreams. It did not know where this call originated, only that it was too tantalising to resist. And so it rode on, drawn ever closer to the source of this irresistible siren song.”

Though a work of fiction, 'Disdain' firmly roots its narrative in reality, drawing from authentic settings. The chilling account of the horrors at Bergen-Belsen is etched into the very fabric of this tale. This novel skilfully melds elements of science fiction, horror, and historical events, crafting a narrative focused on a malevolent entity. At its heart, it explores the lives of the British Army stationed in 1980s Germany and the courageous individuals who bravely stood up to face the looming danger.

Below are the first few paragraphs from Disdain:

The Human Laundry:

Bergen-Belsen, Sunday 15th April, 1945 – An unyielding fog crept into the camp, an oppressive shroud that engulfed everything in its pallid grip. The soft touch of early spring's sun and the graceful dance of the breeze seemed powerless against the eerie stillness. It was as though the atmosphere itself bore the burden of a thousand muted screams, an almost palpable sorrow that tugged at the edges of one's sanity.

Perched upon the outer perimeter fence, a solitary crow stood watch, its eyes gleaming like polished orbs of midnight amidst a cascade of black feathers that absorbed even the feeblest light. Its melancholic caw sliced through the silence, offering both a haunting invitation and an unsettling prelude to the imminent horrors about to unfold.

The British Second Army had followed the 63rd Anti-Tank Regiment into Bergen-Belsen, a concentration camp nestled in the northwest corner of Germany. The scenes that greeted them were almost too much to bear. Amidst the tangled labyrinth of huts, thousands of wraith-like prisoners languished, their gaunt forms mere echoes of life on the cusp of oblivion. The dread etched onto their emaciated faces spoke of unspeakable torment, a dark account of starvation, deprivation, and memories of lives ripped apart. Any essence of humanity had been leached away, leaving behind only hollow shells – just mere whispers of what once was.

Within the camp's interior, decomposing human remains lay scattered, like macabre decorations in a gruesome funfair. It was a scene that defied the boundaries of human comprehension. The site was devoid of grass, food, water, and sanitation, a breeding ground for disease and death. In the absence of electricity, darkness descended at night, its tendrils curling around the hearts of those held captive. As the first rays of dawn seeped through the cracks in their huts, prisoners would huddle toward the faint illumination, their faces lifted like parched flowers seeking sustenance. The feeble light cast by the rising sun soothed frayed nerves and offered a brief reprieve from the night's terrors.

Only one cookhouse out of five had contained any food, and even that had been reduced to an obscene mockery, just five pounds of stinking, rotting turnips. The remaining four kitchens stood barren, their contents devoured by the relentless hunger inflicted by the scourge of war. The camp consisted of five compounds, each one a festering mass of human excreta. The lack of food and water had left the inmates weak and wasted, their bodies wracked with starvation and gastroenteritis. Typhus and tuberculosis were rampant, their embrace claiming victims with merciless efficiency. Overcrowded huts offered no sanctuary, their cramped confines were a breeding ground for disease.

More than half of the forty-one thousand inmates in Camp No.1 had required immediate hospitalisation, but even the best efforts of the medical staff were not enough. At least thirteen thousand died, their bodies contributing to Bergen-Belsen’s grim ledger. The sight of the horrors within the camp brought even the most resilient, and battle-hardened soldiers and officers to tears. They had vomited, cursed, and raged against the unfathomable depths of human depravity. It was simply inconceivable that one human could inflict such terror upon another.

But for Brigadier Glyn Hughes, Deputy Director of Medical Services of the Second Army, there was no time for tears or anger. With the odds stacked against him, he vowed to find a way to save as many lives as possible. He had a small group of British army personnel to assist him. However, he pressed into service any able assistant he could find. He also diverted valuable resources and personnel from the front line, knowing that the lives of those in Bergen-Belsen were just as important as those on the battlefield.

More than thirty-seven units of the British Second Army became involved in the rescue efforts at Bergen-Belsen, but it was not only the British who came to aid the suffering. Units from other Allied armies, volunteer organisations, and physicians from France, Belgium, Poland, Switzerland, and Czechoslovakia all pitched in to help. A prompt response was necessary to provide aid to the forty-five thousand prisoners who were emaciated, diseased, and on the verge of succumbing to their conditions. But with the unimaginable conditions present at Camp No.1, the question was: where to begin? The answer was to convert the Wehrmacht barracks located at nearby Hohne into a colossal medical facility to house the survivors.

It was a daunting task, that the British Army was determined to undertake. They knew that lives were on the line, that every minute they delayed would mean the difference between life and death for those who had already suffered so much. The task of converting the Wehrmacht barracks into a hospital fell upon the shoulders of the Royal Army Medical Corps, volunteer relief organisations, and even inmates with medical experience, as well as German doctors and nurses. Glyn Hughes was put in charge of the relief operation.

On the 21st of April, 1945, the evacuation of Camp No.1 commenced. The inmates were relocated to hospital blocks or clean barrack accommodation. Meanwhile, those who remained were subjected to attempts to improve their living conditions until space opened up for them in the hospitals. As each hut was emptied, it was incinerated in an effort to prevent the spread of Typhus. The evacuation process of Bergen-Belsen was as grim as it was necessary. Medical officers walked through the camp and selected prisoners whom they believed had the best chance of survival, marking their foreheads to signal the stretcher-bearers who to take. Once selected, the prisoners were stripped of their clothing, which was burned to prevent the spread of disease. They were then wrapped in a single clean blanket and transported by ambulance to the Wehrmacht barracks.

The evacuation had almost been derailed by a shortage of blankets, but Glyn Hughes, in his infinite wisdom, had a solution. The German civilian population of the local town of Celle was ordered to provide one blanket per household. And, lo and behold, on the first day of this mandate, one thousand eight hundred blankets were procured – enough to initiate the process of extracting the former inmates from the hell they had endured for far too long. As the inmates arrived at the barracks, they were welcomed at a place that had come to be known as the ‘Human Laundry.’ It was housed in one of the former cavalry stables. Here, sixty German nurses and orderlies from the military hospital, all under the watchful eye of No.7 Mobile Bacteriological Laboratory, worked their magic.

The inmates were stripped naked and scrubbed, their bodies and hair cleaned of lice and any other parasites that they had picked up along the way. They were then covered in DDT powder, which was liberally dusted over their bodies. After the ‘Human Laundry’ had completed its work, the inmates were taken to the hospital accommodation. It was a place where they could rest and recover from the horrors they had endured. Over the course of twenty-six gruelling days, more than eleven thousand patients were treated, a testament to the resilience of the human spirit and the compassion of those who worked to save them.

The west side of the camp had been home to a military hospital, which had housed one thousand, two hundred German military patients. But as the British Army took control, those patients were evicted to make way for those from Belsen in dire need of care. One wing of the hospital had been dedicated to the medical personnel who had contracted typhus while helping the inmates, while the other wards were opened to treat over two thousand patients. The hospital was christened the Glyn Hughes Hospital, after the man who oversaw the relief operation – it was later renamed Glyn Hughes Barracks.

The issue of treating the starved prisoners was not to be taken lightly. While providing food was not the main obstacle, it was essential to provide the correct type of sustenance. The regular diet of the British soldier was far too rich for the inmates, and in the initial days of liberation, it led to the death of many prisoners.

The solution came in the form of the ‘Bengal Mixture’, a concoction that had been used during times of famine in India. This life-saving mixture consisted of dried milk, flour, sugar, and molasses – a blend of humble ingredients that proved to be a godsend for those who had been deprived of nutrition for so long.